end of a hunt
by cedricsowner
Summary: What made Guerrero reconnect with Chance after he left the Old Man? A couple of one-shots about an encounter that might have helped nudging him in that direction. Rather dark. Deals with suicide and torture.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.**

"No one ever told you suicide by slit wrists is one of the most excruciatingly painful ways to die?" Guerrero didn't really expect an answer from the whimpering bundle in the bathtub. Even to him, a man who had not only seen but also caused a couple of horrible things in his life, the sight of her cramped fingers, seized up into claws, her uncontrollably shaking body, the blood-drenched clothes and, yes, the unmistakable stench of urine (most suicides lose control of their bladder some time during the process), was bordering on stomach-turning.

The most logical thing for him to do in this situation would have been to simply turn around and walk away. Given the amount of blood she had already lost, she wouldn't last much longer. Job done without actually getting one's hands dirty. Who could ask for more?

The second, less logical but still somewhat comprehensible reaction would have been to draw his gun and put her out of her misery with one well-aimed shot.

What he actually did was take a towel, tear it into pieces and use them as makeshift bandages to stop the bleeding.

That didn't make any sense at all. Not even to him.

As he lifted her out of the tub she opened her eyes. Her already ragged, labored breathing sped up and she started to hyperventilate.

"Breath slowly", he growled at her. "You are already close enough to a seizure. In and out. Slowly. Like I do." He put her down on the bathroom floor with her back against the tub. "In and out." To focus her attention he squeezed her shoulder in the rhythm of his own breathing.

After checking that his bandages had really stopped the bleeding, he went to get his emergency surgery kit. On the way to his car he wondered if it had started like that with Junior, too, when he had been sent to take out that woman from the docks - a sudden, unforeseen feeling that THIS wasn't what he had signed in for.

_Junior. _

Months had passed since their parting in the cabin and still not a day went by he didn't think of him.

"I had heard the pain faded away after the first cut", she whispered hoarsely as he returned.

"I guess by now you've figured out yourself that that's total bullshit", he replied. He held up a syringe. "This is a painkiller. I'll try and stitch your wrists together again as best as I can, but you'll need a blood transfusion."

He gave her the injection and started to work.

"How do I get a blood transfusion?", she asked timidly after a while.

"I know a guy working in the hospital's morgue. Will be our next stop, once I've made you look half-way presentable again." As soon as he was done stitching he unceremoniously put her back in the bath tub, undressed her till she was completely naked and turned on the water. She still had no control of her hands so it was up to him to dry her up and get her dressed with fresh clothes.

"I couldn't run anymore", she said. "But I didn't want you to take that last bit of control away from me."

"You call that "control"?", he asked, pointing at her still slightly convulsing hands.

"Why are you doing this?", she demanded to know. "For the past two weeks all you wanted to do was kill me."

Many answers would have been possible. For example that he just hated her to go in this ugly, utterly humiliating way after putting up an – he had to give credit where credit was due – impressive fight. Not many people managed to escape him for fourteen days.

_Or_ that letting a target leave through the back door was against his professional pride.

But "Nobody deserves to die like that" was what he replied without really thinking. Only when the words had already left his mouth he realized what he had just said.

Oh boy. He definitely had the bug.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.**

_**AN: emc78 asked for some sort of continuation and well, this is my attempt at it. If all goes well, I'll write two more chapters - if anyone is interested and this doesn't come across as a total turn-off. **_

"WHAT was that about?"

She shrank away from his anger as far as the car seat allowed. "I'm sorry."

"You really do have a death wish, don't you? Grabbing my gun!"

"I just thought that already enough people have died…"

"Wasn't it being squeamish that got you in this whole mess in the first place? Didn't you learn anything?"

She cowered in the car seat like a frightened rabbit and Guerrero wondered for the millionth time how in the world she had managed to get and perform her old job.

"I wasn't being squeamish", she defended herself. "I was trying to do the right thing."

"Yeah." Guerrero sighed. "_Doing the right thing_" has so far cost five people their lives, including two, as far as anyone can tell, totally innocent night watchmen of the company you worked for. You realize by changing sides you wreaked more havoc than if you had simply done what you had been told? And it'll most likely cost two more lives before this is over…"

Her face was one big question mark.

"Yours and, more importantly, mine", he explained, impatient and angry with himself.

_"It's still not too late to get the job done"_, a voice in the back of his mind whispered.

Guerrero tried to push the thought away, but it was persistent.

_"Seriously dude, look at her. A useless piece of dead weight. She managed to piss off the wrong people and now they're out for revenge. You know how it is when it's about revenge. They won't stop before someone hands them her head in a basket. This someone could be you. It's not too late."_

"Would it help if I had sex with you?", she asked, startling him from his thoughts.

"Excuse me?"

"You're having a severe case of second thoughts. Would it help if we had sex?"

He gave her a quick once-over. "No."

They were both silent for a moment.

"How did you know?", he finally asked.

"That's how I managed to get and perform my old job. I'm pretty good at knowing what other people think. That's also how I managed to get away from you for so long. I'm not psychic or anything, I'm just a good reader of people. And at the moment I'm reading in your face that you're thinking about killing me after all."

He nodded slowly. "This might indeed be the only option."


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I do not own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.**

A hospital's morgue has to meet special needs for security and privacy. It should, for example, not be located too closely to any public area in order to avoid distress to passers-by. It also shouldn't be visible from inpatient areas. To allow easy and discrete access for ambulances, police and undertaker's vehicles it should be located at ground level.

Apparently the architect of this particular small town hospital had been hell-bent on creating a textbook example of a perfect morgue. Guerrero considered sending him a thank you note.

Even big hospitals in large cities usually don't have twenty-four-seven working hours with a day shift and a fully staffed graveyard shift, but here, in this rather rural area, working hours were eight hours per day, five days per week. 8.00am till 5.00pm.

Of course the morgue was accessible at all times to authorized personnel such as hospital staff, police, undertakers etc., but since this was a small town in the middle of a Saturday night and Guerrero had kidnapped the chief pathologist ("chief" is a funny title when there are, effectively, no underlings to be chief upon) he was quite sure they wouldn't be disturbed. Just to be on the safe side he had brought equipment to monitor police radio, in case some teenagers decided to celebrate the beginning of spring break by crashing into a tree with Daddy's brand new car.

Had Guerrero dwelt on it, it probably would have struck him as difficult, being back in a morgue again, so shortly after a visit there roughly around the same time of night had saved Angela's life via blood transfusion. But Guerrero had never been one to dwell upon things, especially not when there was a task at hand to concentrate on.

How convenient the good doctor had a remote control for the morgue's outside lights and the gate to the exit lobby in his official vehicle, which had – what a service! – been parked right outside his home. The doctor's official vehicle was a mortuary car, of course. Talk about extra-roomy trunk…

_"Before entering the autopsy room all staff should change into protective clothing"_, a sign on the wall informed the nightly visitor. Guerrero allowed himself a sardonic smile. He usually didn't do well with orders, but this time he was only too happy to oblige. The change room provided gowns, waterproof aprons and boots, masks, wrap-around eye protection and heavy duty gloves. In other words: Everything you need to protect yourself from unintentionally leaving trace evidence.

"I'm deeply impressed how well-equipped you kept your morgue, dude", Guerrero told the totally terrified doctor as he shifted him from the mortuary car onto a transport trolley. "Extra large self-flushing work-sink, non-hand actuated telephone and Intercom outlet, waterproof socket outlets for electric saw, portable suction, illuminator X-ray… Not bad, dude. Not bad at all." He lifted the tied-up man onto one of the examination tables. Apparently he was trying to say something, but Guerrero made no move to strip off the duct tape that effectively covered his mouth.

"Let me guess, you'd like to make another deal with me", he told his abductee. The man nodded madly.

"Thanks but no thanks. In my humble opinion you've definitely struck enough deals ... for a lifetime." Guerrero gave him a moment to let the full meaning of the sentence sink in before he continued: "You definitely outdid yourself with the deal you struck with Joubert. Very clever, to figure out who had been after the woman you pronounced dead and wrote out a death certificate for. I should have known you were clever – that blowfish poison you suggested to make her look dead worked perfectly. We had everybody fooled. She would have had a peaceful life in Canada. Granted, with her talent to attract trouble maybe only for a while, but nevertheless... Alas, the best plan is worth zilch when one of the confidants turns out to be a rat."

The doctor's eyes widened in panic and sweat beads appeared on his forehead despite the low temperature in the autopsy room.

"See the biohazard bags over there?" Guerrero nodded in the direction of a glass cabinet. "It would be incredibly easy to get rid of your body. All it would take would be a little dismantling. Then label the things properly and off they go into high temperature incineration before anyone even notices you've gone missing. But don't worry about your wife cashing in on your life insurance. This here is about making a statement. I'll ensure they'll find your carcass."

Guerrero switched on the electric saw.

_**AN: Should your name be charlie (): THANK YOU for leaving a comment on "aftermath"! Reviews mean the world to me, it was really kind you took the time!  
**_


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I do not own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.**

One piece of the doctor found its way into the clinical waste disposal after all. Since this was about making a statement, Guerrero carefully cut off the doctor's hand, ensuring to leave part of his wrist attached to it, discarded it into a biohazard bag and replaced it with the hand that had been sent to him in a parcel through one of his contacts.

No mistake had been possible. Guerrero had immediately recognized the traces of a clumsy suicide attempt and some only just removed stitches on the part of the wrist that had still been attached to the hand. Further research had brought up a Canadian police report about an unidentified woman's dead body found in the limits of Richmond Community police station. According to the report it had been an execution-style murder. One clear shot to the back of the head. The victim's right hand had been cut off postmortem.

Since Guerrero was the an-eye-for-an-eye type of guy, the postmortem part had been good news for the doctor.

Well, at least sort of.

The MO of the killing pointed to Baptiste and in a way Guerrero was grateful it had been him. Baptiste strongly disliked torture for its inelegance. He saw his jobs as works of art. His habit of taking away his victim's watches was creepy - trophy-gathering was so serial-killerish - but other than that he was a true pro. Guerrero was sure death had come fast and painless to Angela.

The sending of the hand, though, was a totally different story. The Old Man himself must have ordered that, no way Baptiste would have come up with something like this on his own. He knew better than to provoke Guerrero.

Killing Angela made sense – there had been a client to please.

Cutting off her hand and having it delivered to Guerrero didn't. It was a crude taunt, an act of pure revenge to punish Guerrero for not doing what he was told and leaving.

The Old Man was running a gruesome business for sure, but that didn't mean he had ever conducted it gruesomely. Clean, professional work, no more mess than absolutely necessary had always been one of his guiding principles.

Junior's departure had obviously changed that. The hand had been sent to inflict pain.

Now, if the Old Man was doing this to _him_, Guerrero, somebody he had never had such a close relationship with, what would he do to Junior, once he found him?

No postmortem in that case, that was for sure.

_Junior was in danger. _

Of course that wasn't exactly a new realization. But with Angela's hand delivered to him in a gift box, it had certainly gained more and different weight.

He needed to find him.

Junior needed protection.

the end

_**AN: Should your name be Messer Victo: THANK YOU for leaving a comment on aftermath, it means a lot to me!**_


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